


Scar Tissue

by sarahyellow



Series: Commander's Omega [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Anxiety Disorder, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Collars, Domestic Fluff, Honeymoon, Knotting, M/M, Married Life, Mating Bites, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Marking, Switching, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: “It’ll never go away. Not completely. The memories are scars, too. You can cover them up, tattoo over them, but they’re always gonna be there, underneath.”Set two years after Gilead. Bucky and Steve return from their honeymoon; back to their home, their children, ...and their problems.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Commander's Omega [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1132778
Comments: 19
Kudos: 212





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> There's a good deal of discussion of Bucky's past sexual abuse in this. And Bucky has a panic attack during sex. There's love and fluff and hot sex, too, but fair warning.

Steve gives Bucky the window seat for the plane ride from Wakanda back to London. It’s a nice gesture which Bucky can barely appreciate as he clutches the thin armrests as they take off. It’s a tin can. They’re flying in a fifty-passenger, rattling tin can when they could be on a private jet right now. Bucky grits his teeth and endures take off, relaxing some once they hit cruising altitude. “Ugh,” he sighs. “Can you please tell me why we couldn’t have taken T’challa’s jet?” He’d _offered_. 

Steve tuts from his seat. He’s fiddling on his phone. “Tony lined up an entire luxury honeymoon for us in the secret capitol city of Wakanda. I wasn’t about to take advantage of their generosity. You have to remember that the guy’s a king, not to mention a… well, a superhero.”

“That’s just a rumor,” Bucky mutters. 

“He might need his jets for more serious business than flying us home.”

“I guess so.” Bucky smirks. “Guess I’ll cut him a break.”

“Good idea.”

“He did let us fuck in those bioluminescent caverns.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses, glancing quickly about the cabin. “Shh! There’re _people_.”

Bucky chuckles. He looks out the window and watches as wispy cirrus clouds pass below the plane’s wing. “I wonder what the girls are doing,” he says. He’s managed not to think about them for almost twelve straight hours, which is the longest yet the whole trip. “You think they’re okay?”

Steve sets his phone down and leans over to peck a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Yeah, Buck. They’re fine. You know what they’re doing right now?”

“Hm?”

“Ninety percent chance they’re in the living room watching _Yo Gabba Gabba_ with Darcy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. That’s what Steve’s said the entire trip. “They can’t always be watching that demented show,” he says.

“Naw, you’re right,” Steve agrees. “I’m sure there’s been some _Wiggles_ in there, too.”

Bucky hums, acting fake-annoyed at Steve’s joking. He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes. They’ve got seven hours before they land at Heathrow, and then another eight until they reach the States. “They watch too much tv,” he says. “We’re instituting a one-hour a day tv time rule once we get back.”

“That include us?”

“Fuck no.” Bucky scowls, eyes still closed. “We’re adults, Steve. It’s too late for us.”

Steve chuckles, the sound tapering off at the end to become more of a hum. He reaches for Bucky’s neck and thumbs over the collar there. “You think?

Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is staring at him with a look that is _very_ close to the one he’d worn at the altar two weeks ago. Bucky swallows heavily and reaches up to cover Steve’s hand with his own. “No,” he says quietly, “No. Never too late for us.”

Steve smiles and leans in for a kiss, this time on the lips. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re just beginning.”

.oOo.

Bucky takes the collar off before they land at Heathrow. It’s not unusual for omegas to wear collars publicly in third world countries (even Wakanda, though Bucky now knows how very _non_ -third world it is), but not in places like England or the US. So he stows the simple length of black fabric away in his carry-on when the flight attendant announces that everyone should buckle up and put their trays in the upright position. Steve watches him do it and Bucky catches him looking. “What?” he asks, feeling somehow guilty for having removed the collar.

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I’m just surprised you wanted to wear it at all.”

“In public?”

“No. At all.” Steve nods to indicate the bag at Bucky’s feet. “You know I’d understand if you didn’t want it. I bought it with that possibility in mind. I know it’s old-fashioned and has certain… connotations. We don’t have to keep it if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want you to wear it just because you think it’d hurt my feel—”

“Steve? Shut up.” Bucky pats the top of Steve’s hand like he’s a silly child. “I like it, really I do. It doesn’t bother me, I just can’t exactly go around with it at home, ya know?” Collars are intimate, private things, harkening back to a time when mated alphas displayed their claims on their omegas with pride. Bucky says, “Believe it or not, I like being reminded that I’m yours.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, the worry wart. Even though they’ve already had this discussion the night when Steve presented the collar to Bucky underneath the stars of the Wakandan sky. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’s a different kind of ownership,” Bucky says, because he knows what Steve worries about, knows that his husband worries that Bucky will take offense at the old-fashioned gesture, will associate it with the way that omegas were viewed under the regime. But Bucky doesn’t. “It’s romantic,” he says. “And I like it. I even like the style you got. You really know me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So don’t worry anymore, okay? I um…” Bucky bites his lip, shy to admit, “It makes me feel really good about myself that I can do it, that I can be that way with you. I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to…. after.” Bucky covers the raw vulnerability of that admission with a brave smile. “Okay?”

Steve smiles, and this time he looks convinced. Sap. “Okay,” he says. “I love you, Mr. Rogers.”

Bucky beams inside. Maybe on the outside too. “Love you too, dork.”

.oOo.

Bucky is STIFF by the time they get home, and he feels like he’s just wasted ten percent of his life on an airplane. “Ugh,” he groans on the elevator ride up to their apartment. “I’m so old.”

Steve snorts. “You’re twenty-five.” 

“My knees fucking hurt. And my hips. My _hips_ , Steve.” Bucky whines. “I’m old.”

“Well if you’re old, then I’m dead,” Steve says wryly. He bends to kiss at Bucky’s neck from where he’s holding him from behind. “I’ll give you a massage tonight, how’s that sound?”

Bucky purrs. “Oh, that’s not all you’re going to give me.”

Steve’s scent gets a little bit thicker at that and Bucky huffs in satisfaction. “Reign it in,” he says. The elevator dings at their floor and he steps off. “Darcy’ll smell you.”

Steve grumbles in embarrassment, getting off the elevator as well and creating space between them. He’s wheeling both of their suitcases. “Should’a hired a beta nanny,” he mumbles. And he’s obviously joking but he’s also taking Bucky’s comment to heart and getting all self-conscious of the way he’s scenting, which is adorable and makes Bucky pinch him as he surpasses him and gets to the door first.

“You’re so easy,” he says, thumbing in his print and pushing the door open when Jarvis unlocks it. He’s half expecting to see the girls in the living room, but it _is_ nine pm, and Darcy’s a good nanny—she’s kept the girls on their regular schedule. 

“Hey!” she greets with an excited whisper from where she’s sitting on the couch. She reaches for the remote and pauses the episode of _Real Housewives_ that she’s had playing on low volume. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks. It’s good to be home.”

“How was it?” Darcy scoots over on the couch, folding her socked feet beneath her and cradling her very large wine glass. 

Bucky grins. “Amazing. Like somethin’ from a movie.”

Darcy waggles her eyebrows. “What kind of movie, though, huh?”

Bucky laughs, even though he can immediately smell the scent of Steve’s embarrassment from where he’s back by the door, struggling to get both of their rolling suitcases inside. “I’ll tell you tomorrow when Steve’s at work,” he whispers to her with a wink, and she giggles. 

“Okee dokee.”

“Hey Darce,” Steve says. He’s parked the suitcases and is walking over to the kitchen, where Darcy has left the bottle of table wine uncorked and ready for another pour. He fills himself a glass and leans against the counter as he sips it. “How were the girls?”

“Perfect angels,” Darcy says, and she doesn’t sound even the least bit sarcastic. “Becs threw tantrums the first two days but—”

“What?” Bucky frowns. “Why didn’t you call?!”

“Oh shut up,” Darcy says. “You two were on your honeymoon. I wasn’t going to call you for anything less than an emergency room visit.”

“Hmph.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. 

“You’re welcome. Not like I was doing it for free.” Darcy grins widely and gets up from the couch. She heads off in the direction of her bedroom. “See you two lovebirds in the morning.”

Steve makes some general noise of agreement and Bucky says goodnight, and then they’re left alone. Bucky meets Steve’s eyes from across the room. “Stay up, or bed?” he asks.

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes with the hand that isn’t holding the wine glass. “I’m so tired, but I’m not sure I could sleep.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Steve nods. He picks up the wine bottle and tells Bucky to grab a glass to bring back to the bedroom. “We can get a bath and then drink ourselves to sleep.”

“But fool around first, right?” Bucky asks hopefully. He follows Steve into their bedroom, wine glass in hand. “Steve?”

.oOo.

“You want it?” Steve asks, voice low in that way it can get when he’s turned on but also just really fucking in tune with Bucky, like their eye contact is enough to speak with. He’s holding Bucky’s collar. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes, Alpha.” Bucky whispers it. He’s lying on his back on the bed, Steve’s standing, the both of them just barely dried off from the bath. Steve’s skin is still very pink, and Bucky can feel the edges of his own hair already curling up from the moisture. He’s never called anybody ‘Alpha’. Not like this; like they’re his, and he’s theirs. He’s never said it to Steve until now. He watches as Steve’s eyes widen and then get dark.

“Oh, Buck,” he says. He sits down on the bed next to where Bucky’s lying. He places the hand that’s not holding the collar on Bucky’s chest. “Baby, say it again.”

Bucky smiles, so in love with the man above him he can hardly stand it. It hurts, to not have the words; to have no adequate way to let Steve know how _much_ he feels. So instead Bucky just swallows it down like a knot of indigestion and settles for telling him, “You’re my Alpha, Steve. Always.” Steve’s scent hits his nostrils on a three second delay, and the headiness of it makes Bucky’s eyelids flutter. “Oh,” he breathes.

“Omega,” Steve growls, hand sliding from his chest up to his neck. He cups Bucky’s throat like it’s fine china and says, “I love you so fucking much.”

The edges of Bucky’s mouth quirk up at hearing Steve curse. “Yeah,” he says.

“You want this?” Steve asks again. He holds the collar up to where Bucky can see it. “Want my collar around your neck?”

Bucky whimpers and nods, loving the feeling of Steve’s hand over his throat. “Want you to mark me first,” he says. And this makes Steve’s eyes go dark, too. Between his legs, Steve’s cock visibly twitches. “For real,” Bucky croaks, surprising himself with how much he means it. He’s already got Steve’s bonding scar, but it could be better, could be even more prominent. Some mates make a habit of re-biting on their anniversaries, adding another layer of scar tissue to the mark with each passing year. Bucky finds that he doesn’t hate the idea. Steve’s hand over his throat makes his next swallow feel heavier as he admits, “Enough to make it more.” He can tell from the way Steve’s face pinches, that he knows what he means.

“Baby…” Steve moves, gets on the bed and lays over him. Bucky’s parting his legs to make room without even thinking about it. “Bucky,” Steve says. He kisses him once and pulls back to ask. “You want that? You don’t have to say that. If you—”

Bucky reaches up and covers Steve’s mouth with his metal hand. It’s a dominant gesture but Steve doesn’t growl. Bucky tells him, “Stop thinking about what I might not want. I’ll tell you if I don’t want something, and if I say I want it, I want it.”

Steve’s expression—or at least the part of it that Bucky can see past the plates of his own hand—calms and smooths over. He nods in acceptance and Bucky removes his hand. “Flip me over, Alpha,” he tells him. Fire sparks behind Steve’s eyes at being told to put his omega on his belly, and he does, pulling back and flipping Bucky easily onto his front like he isn’t six foot and a hundred seventy pounds. Bucky moans a little at the way it makes him feel—delicate and wanted, _needed_. “I love you,” he gasps, the breathlessness of it making the words sound dirtier than the last time he said them. “S-steve.”

“Shh.” Steve lays back down over him, warm, heavy body blanketing Bucky and pushing him into the covers. He kisses over the already existing scar on Bucky’s neck. “It’ll hurt,” he whispers. He flicks his tongue there. “You sure you want it now? I could do it when you—”

“Yes, yes I want it now.” Bucky’s not running on sex drive when he asks for this. It’s something deeper that’s making him ask, something baser. He doesn’t want to have to wait until he’s halfway through an orgasm to feel Steve’s teeth on his neck. “Just do it— _ah!_ ”

Steve bites him without any more warning, and it does hurt. Badly. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and jerks at the pain, but Steve seems to have anticipated the struggle and he grabs Bucky’s shoulders to hold him still. He pulls his mouth back. The sharp tang of blood hits the air. “Shshsh, Sweetheart,” he soothes. He bends back down and laves over the re-opened skin. “Just give it a minute.”

Bucky does, and sure enough, after a few minutes and some continued licking from his alpha, the hormones start to kick in and Bucky’s bonding gland starts _throbbing_. And instead of pain, this time it’s pleasure. Bucky’s neck hasn’t felt like such an erogenous zone since Steve first bonded him. “Oh,” he grunts, breath shaky from the pleasure and from how thoroughly Steve is weighing him down into the mattress. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” Steve growls. “C’mon.” He kneels back and pulls on Bucky’s hips to bring him along, moving them until they’re both kneeling up on the bed, Steve’s cock nestled in the cleft of Bucky’s ass. He brings the collar around, holds it against the front of Bucky’s neck. The cool slide of the fabric makes Bucky shiver. Down below, he can feel his cock throb, and there’s slick starting to tickle as it slides down his balls. “You want this?” Steve asks.

“Yes.”

“TELL ME, OMEGA.”

Steve’s Voice: such a juxtaposition in how quietly he says it and how utterly _compelling_ it is to Bucky’s deepest nature. “Alpha,” he croaks out, suddenly, desperately needing to feel Steve wrap his neck up in ownership. “Give me your collar, please. Make me yours.”

It is the _right_ thing to say. Bucky would know that even if he didn’t receive the waves of scent that come off his mate—his _husband_ , now. Steve makes a noise in his throat that is utterly possessive and pleased and which makes Bucky feel like a _GoodOmega_. Steve literally says those words to him next, but Bucky would’ve known just from the sounds. Steve stuffs his face in Bucky’s neck, noses at the bath-dampened hair just behind his ear. “Here,” he whispers. “Bare your neck for me.” Bucky doesn’t know how he could possibly do that more than he is now. He settles for tipping his head to the side so that it puts the bond mark on display and closer to Steve’s face. The alpha rumbles his approval. He brings the ends of the collar around. “Hold your hair up for me, Sweetheart,” he says. When Bucky obeys, Steve is quick to fasten the collar in back. It’s a perfect fit and the feeling of it sitting against the fresh bite mark makes Bucky sigh in pleasure.

“Steve. Oh, Stevie.” 

Steve hums in agreement and gently takes Bucky’s hands, getting him to release his hair and twining their fingers together, bringing them down to rest on Bucky’s hips. “I want you so bad,” Steve whispers, the sweet tinge of vulnerable need in his voice making Bucky want to do everything for his mate.

“Me too,” he says. “Steve, god I—”

“I want you to present for me,” Steve says. 

It’s not his Voice but it might as well be, with how much Bucky wants to obey. He whimpers and folds in front of Steve, eagerly spreading his legs, pushing his chest down and his ass up for Steve to do whatever he wants with him. Steve’s hand appears between his legs, cupping him and drawing back, gathering all the slick that’s accumulated there like it’s something precious, a nectar not to be wasted. He smears it over his hole, rubbing and rubbing in a way that’s completely unnecessary but still so good. Bucky whines at how nice it feels. It makes him want so much more. “Please,” he begs, voice high in that plaintive omega register that it rarely reaches. “Steve— _Alpha_ , please. Breed me.”

Steve growls and it surpasses the sound he made earlier. More possessive, more dominant. He grabs his cock and sets the head to Bucky’s hole. “You need fingers?” he asks, because they’re not actually living in prehistoric times and a man like Steve can remember that well enough to at least ask. 

“No,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t. His hole is fucking _pulsing_ from how much he needs something in it, his body going haywire from being so stimulated by his alpha and yet not filled. “Give me your cock,” he says, not trying for dirty talk but achieving it nonetheless just by breathing out the swirling, base desires that have overtaken regular speech. All he knows right now is _alpha, mate, breed_ and _yours_ , and that’s fine, because who needs more than that anyway? “Inside me, nn-ngh—oh!”

_YES_

Steve groans like an animal for the whole slide in, and when he stills and curls over Bucky’s back and holds himself inside with nothing more than a gentle pulse of hips, he exhales in a great ‘whoosh’ against Bucky’s neck. “Fuuuck.”

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, so unbelievably turned on by the sounds of his alpha sinking home and feeling good. “L-love you.”

Steve thrusts his hips for real, jarring their bodies and growling at the same time. It’s not an “I love you, too,” but it’s probably the closest Steve’s capable of right now, and it’s good enough. It pushes all of Bucky’s buttons, leastways. Steve plants his hands on either side of Bucky’s pressed-down shoulders, and he starts moving.

The sex isn’t complicated by any means. It’s just graceless fucking, no technique outside of base instinct.

It’s wonderful.

Bucky comes twice without any warning, grunting in surprise the first time and sobbing the second. Steve can’t keep his mouth away from his neck, and Bucky knows that if he didn’t have the collar on he’d probably be getting bitten yet again. The thought just makes him start amping back up for a third orgasm.

When Steve’s knot starts to grow, Bucky keens and shoves back onto it like he’ll die if he’s denied a tie with his mate. Luckily, Steve knows exactly what he needs, because he grabs Bucky’s hips and holds him still as his—sizable—knot grows and locks them together. He goes back to fucking him after; short, dirty tugs that send Steve into orgasm within seconds. Bucky feels the pulse of it and he starts coming, too.

They collapse on the bed with twin groans, Bucky because he’s so fucking wrung out, and Steve because he’s still coming, will be for at least a couple minutes more. Bucky smiles and rubs his cheek against the bed, utterly sated by three orgasms and the bone-deep knowledge that he’s allowed his alpha to take him, to own him and mark him and bend him over to breed him full of pups.

.oOo.

Bucky’s on birth control, because he’s not a fucking idiot. 

Two kids are more than enough, and even though he’s had a two-week break from his daughters, he quickly gets back into the routine of having his attention demanded nearly every minute. _It’ll get better once they’re in school_ , he tells himself, feeling like a horrible father as he thinks it.

He regrets telling Darcy she could have five days off after watching the girls for two whole weeks. And that thought makes Bucky feel bad, too. He doesn’t want to be one of those _“OMG I couldn’t survive without my nanny”_ parents, only interacting with their kids when it’s convenient and handing them off to be dealt with by someone else the rest of the time. No, Bucky wants to be a _real_ father.

Steve assures him that it’s normal to want time to himself, and that it’s okay for Bucky to make self-care a priority. So the next day when they’re spending time at home with Becca and Sarah, Steve volunteers to take the girls out to the park while Bucky stays home, makes himself lunch and catches up on his emails from school. Bucky appreciates it to no end, laying a big fat kiss on Steve’s cheek as he’s headed out the door with the double stroller. He turns the kiss into a raspberry at the end to make Becca laugh and Steve swats him on the butt in retaliation. “See you in a little bit,” he says, and Bucky waves them out the door, sighing as he thinks about what an amazing husband he has.

 _Bucky Rogers_. Fuck, he’s got it good.

Fall classes at NYU start in a couple of weeks and Bucky is feeling some anxiety at the thought of getting back into it. Not because he struggles academically—he doesn’t—but because he feels so alienated from the other college students. They’re so young and happy, and it makes bitterness burn in Bucky’s gut, that he’d been just like them once, only to have that taken away from him. 

Oh well. He’s not doing it to make friends. He’s doing it for himself, for Steve and for their family. Mostly for himself though, because after five purposeless years in fucking Gilead, he damn well deserves to have some ambition.

.oOo.

“Hello?” Bucky says, speaking to the living room as Jarvis has patched the phone call through the apartment’s speakers. Normally Bucky wouldn’t take any call that wasn’t from his family or friends, but the novelty of Jarvis informing him that _The Doctor Phil Show_ is calling overrides that rule. 

_“Mr. Barnes?”_ a female voice on the other end of the line says. _“James Barnes?”_

“Yes. That’s me.” Bucky doesn’t bother to correct her about the name change.

_“Hello! My name is Cheryl Haines. I’m a production assistant on the Dr. Phil show. Are you familiar with the program?_

Bucky snorts. “Uh, yeah.”

_“Excellent. Well I’m calling to ask you on our show.”_

“You… what?” The first thought Bucky has is that she means as a member of the live audience. But then it hits him that she means as a guest. “What?” he says again. “I… why?”

 _“We’re putting together a two-part episode on the aftermath of Gilead,”_ she says. _“Our producers want to bring former vessels and guardians in to start a dialog.”_

Bucky feels his stomach clench. “What?” he says. “A dialog?”

_“Yes. The show will focus on different viewpoints and discussion on what went on during Gilead. We want to have our guests debate the issues, respectfully of course.”_

Bucky gapes. If he wasn’t so flabbergasted he’d most certainly be furious. “That’s… the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says.

The woman doesn’t say anything for a minute, presumably taken aback by Bucky’s response. _“Excuse me?”_ she says. 

Bucky frowns. “There’s no _debate_. Dialog? Are you kidding me? You want to put a bunch or murderers and rapists on a stage to debate the merits of what happened?”

_“Well I can assure you that’s not what—”_

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses, the shock finally bleeding away to be replaced by anger. “No,” he says. “The answer’s no. Everything you just said is ridiculous. You’re just… just trying to create a spectacle. Something horrible for people to salivate over.”

_“I hardly think—”_

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Bucky growls. “Fucking unbelievable.”

_“So you’re not open to appearing on our show? We do provide transport and lodging, as well as—”_

“Jarvis, end call.” The woman’s voice is cut off mid-sentence, and just in time, too. Bucky thinks he would’ve started shouting expletives at her if he’d gone on any longer. Now that the call’s ended, he comes back to himself, noticing how flushed he is, how fast his heart is going and how twitchy he feels. “Fuck,” he breathes. Another instance of the reaction not matching the situation. He shouldn’t be _this_ upset. That knowledge only serves to freak him out more.

He stomps into the bathroom and grabs the Xanax bottle, dumping one out into his palm and swallowing it dry. He winces at the feeling but sighs in relief once it’s down. He’ll feel better soon. Shakily, he leans against the vanity and stares at himself in the mirror. His reflection looks pale, almost haunted. “You're okay,” he says out loud, trying to calm himself like his therapist has told him to. “You're safe, and you're in control. Nobody can make decisions for you. You're safe and in control.” _You're pathetic for freaking out over something so small_. He takes deep, calming breaths, forcing himself to hold each inhale a little longer before letting it back out. 

Eventually he stops, sighing and closing his eyes in an effort not to cry. _Just hold it together for twenty more minutes,_ he thinks. The Xanax will kick in and he’ll be fine. He just has to—

He straightens as he hears the front door to the apartment opening and closing, Steve’s low voice talking, ostensibly to something Becca has said. Bucky swallows heavily and turns on the tap, wetting his hands and bringing cold water up to splash on his face. “You’re fine,” he says one more time to his reflection, then turns from the mirror, pats his face dry, and heads out to the living room to face Steve and the girls.

.oOo.

He doesn’t tell Steve about the phone call. The Xanax _does_ kick in, and Bucky convinces himself that he was just overreacting because of his anxiety issues and that to bring it up to Steve will ruin their evening unnecessarily. He already makes Steve worry about him enough, Bucky doesn’t want to add to it.

Steve puts _The Princess and the Frog_ on after dinner, which Becca loves and decides she wants to play princess to. Steve helps her put on her dress up clothes and Bucky grudgingly allows her to play “hair-do” with his hair, topping the look off with a tiara and plastic clip on earrings. By the time the end credits roll, both Becca and Sarah are conked out on the floor and Steve is finally allowing himself to laugh, full body, at Bucky’s state. “Babe,” he says, crawling across the couch to reach him. 

“Shut up.”

Steve is smiling _so_ wide, not at all deterred by Bucky’s tone. “Look at you,” he purrs, coming to rest over Bucky and leer down at him. “Pretty pretty princess.”

“I will cut you,” Bucky says. It only makes Steve chuckle and dip to kiss at his neck. 

“Naw,” he says. “You love it when I tell you how pretty you are.” He nuzzles at him, nose bumping one of the plastic earrings. “And you’re the prettiest guy around.”

Bucky groans, pushing weakly against Steve’s shoulders in annoyance, but not really. He loves the stupid man above him. “Take ‘em off,” he says. 

Steve pulls one of the clip-ons with his teeth until it pops off Bucky’s ear, then goes and does the other. Bucky grunts and says, “Now the tiara.” 

Steve snickers. “No. I like the tiara. Keep it.”

Bucky growls. “It’s not gonna stay on when you’re fucking me across the—”

Steve claps one of his hands over Bucky’s mouth so fast, it makes a slapping sound. “The girls are right there!” he hisses. 

Bucky huffs from beneath his palm. “Ewr ehpng.” It’s not legible at all, but Steve knows what he’s said nonetheless. 

He removes his hand cautiously. “Don’t swear.” 

“They’re sleeping,” Bucky repeats snottily.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Princess. You want me to spank you?”

Bucky flushes, blood going south in interest at the threat. Steve’s never delved much into that territory with him before, but the threat of a spanking opens up the doors to all sorts of dirty thoughts in Bucky’s mind. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “Maybe you should.”

Steve snorts. He gets up and pulls Bucky with him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get them in bed before your dirty mouth runs away with itself, Princess.” Bucky would argue or make some indignant comment, but one glance to the two and four-year old girls on the floor and he’s completely switching gears. Sarah’s cuddled up against Becca’s bigger size, her lips parted and her thumb stuck in her mouth. Bucky heart squeezes and he remembers that they’re going to have to train her out of that. “C’mon,” Steve says softly. “You take her, I’ll carry Becca.” 

They lay the girls down in their beds, neither of them waking up as they’re tucked in. Bucky watches with a swooping sense of complete satisfaction as his husband dips down to kiss each of them on the forehead. He feels the pressure of tears threaten at the backs of his eyes, but blinks it away. He waits until they’ve shut the girls’ bedroom door behind them before pulling Steve into a kiss. 

Steve hums in surprise, kissing back and holding Bucky at the waist. “That was nice,” he says lowly. 

“Yeah.” Bucky gives him one more, then pulls away and takes Steve’s hand to guide him down the hall. “Let’s go to bed.”

.oOo.

Bucky isn’t thinking about sex anymore as they brush their teeth and get ready for bed. He’s feeling sleepy and content and loving. He knows there must be a huge dump of oxytocin thrumming through his brain from being back with his family after two weeks apart. Despite everything that’s been done to him for being omega, he still embodies a lot of his designation’s stereotypical traits. He’s naturally nurturing, and naturally submissive to Steve, he likes to be cuddled and provided for, likes to make others happy, if he can. The behaviors come out of him without his thought or permission, but in time he’s come to be okay with them. Even the submission to his mate is okay, because it’s _Steve_. Steve loves him no matter what, and he always takes care of Bucky. Bucky can trust him to never hurt him and never take advantage, and he’s well-aware of what a minor miracle that is, after Gilead.

They brush their teeth and all that in the bathroom. Bucky finishes first and goes into the bedroom to put his pajamas on and lay down. Steve comes in a moment later, only he’s butt-naked. Bucky raises an eyebrow, raking his eyes up and down Steve’s body. “God, you’re fine,” he says. 

Steve chuckles. “Thank you.” He walks over, cock hanging heavy between his thighs. He’s not hard but he’s not completely soft either. He stops at the edge of the mattress and looks down at Bucky with a mix of amusement and desire. “Thought I told you to keep the tiara?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oops.”

“Hm.” Steve puts his hands on the bed, then one knee. “Take these off,” he says, pinching at the bottom of the cotton boxers that Bucky only uses as sleepwear. “Teeshirt too.”

Bucky inhales and lets it out slowly, considering Steve and his big, strong body; feeling the very low thrum of sexual interest that’s just now starting up in himself. How could it not, when he’s got a man who looks like Steve in front of him? Bucky must be silent for too long though, because Steve pauses in his crawl onto the bed. “Buck?” he asks. “You don’t want to?”

“No, I do.” Bucky will always say yes to sex if Steve offers. He is a guy, after all. He smiles up at Steve to reassure him, hurrying to pull his shirt off, then his boxers. Steve lays out over him and moans softly at the feeling of all their naked skin pressing together. Bucky makes a noise of agreement. He slides a hand through the hair at the back of Steve’s head and pulls him down. 

They make out for a long while. Eventually they’re both hard and Bucky’s leaking a little bit, the smell of their combined arousal tickling at Bucky’s nose and settling somewhere deep in his belly. He hitches his legs up to either side of Steve’s hips, cradling him. “Rub on me,” he whispers, and gets to enjoy the sight of Steve’s eyes going darker. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. He starts rolling his hips, rubbing his cock against the hard planes of Bucky’s abs—two years after Sarah and he’s got those back—breathing heavily as he moves. 

Bucky moans quietly at how hot it is, watching his alpha take pleasure from his body. “Want you inside me,” he says quietly, like a confession.

Steve stops moving and crushes another kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah, me too.” He sits back and pats Bucky on the flank. “Bedside drawer,” he says. “Lube, no condom.”

Bucky feels heat stain his cheeks. There’s no contraceptive need to use a condom outside of his heats, and they’re both clean. So he knows that if Steve is telling him ‘no condom’ that it means he wants to wet Bucky up, fill him with his come and watch it drip back out. The thought makes Bucky’s toes curl even as he nods. It’s a stretch from his position, but he manages to pull the drawer open and fish out the lube. He hands it to Steve, biting his lip and watching intently as Steve pops the cap and slicks his fingers. “M’already wet,” Bucky points out, not even close to complaining.

“I know.” Steve sets his fingers to Bucky’s hole, rubbing the lube around. “I’m making you wetter.”

Bucky moans at that statement. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing dryly. “Okay.” Steve presses the first finger in, and Bucky lets his head drop back to the pillow. He closes his eyes. Steve goes achingly slow, thrusting and twisting just the one finger for what feels like forever before he adds another. Bucky’s not as loose as he would be in heat, but his body still accepts Steve like it’s been waiting for him. Steve curls his fingers inside and rubs against his prostate. Bucky groans, hips jerking to press his ass down on it. “Oh fuck. _Yeah_ , right there.” It’s gentle but insistent, the way that Steve’s rubbing him inside, and it makes Bucky’s skin prickle with goosebumps. He hears Steve hum in pleasure at what he’s doing.

“Yeah,” he says. “You like that, Honey?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky can barely take it when Steve calls him sweet things like that when he’s making him come apart. It scrapes him raw, makes him a needy, vulnerable thing. Bucky feels the incredible depth of his love swoop down in his stomach to join with the lust. “Love you,” he breathes, not opening his eyes.

“Love you too.” Steve slips another finger in, this one requiring a bit more of a push before he starts back up with thrusting them. It still doesn’t hurt, all the lube and Bucky’s slick leaking out around Steve’s hand and making dirty-wet sounds as he fucks his fingers into him. “You wanna come like this first?” Steve asks.

Bucky pants and nods. He’s already focusing on getting there, pushing his hips down into it in little pulses as he throbs with the feeling of Steve’s fingers pushing against his prostate and slick glands. “Yeah,” he breathes, tensing up as he gets close. “M’gonna.” He comes with a shivery inhale and tense muscles, riding it out silently on Steve’s hand. He’s squeezing his eyes tight, face screwed up in a pleasured grimace as he shoots against his belly, and he just knows that Steve is watching him, rapt. The knowledge makes his orgasm last a second or two longer.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Steve whispers. He pulls his hand free and takes Bucky’s cock instead, giving it slow, loose strokes. It’s sensitive but Bucky allows it, looking down and feeling heat sweep through him at the sight of his alpha’s hand wrapped around his length. “Okay?” Steve checks.

“Mmhm.” Bucky meets Steve’s eyes. “Suck me?”

Steve huffs a strong breath out, quickly dropping down and stuffing his face between Bucky’s legs so enthusiastically that it makes Bucky chuckle. That is until Steve takes him into the wet, smooth heat of his mouth. Bucky moans and threads his hands through Steve’s hair, holding him, praising him and feeling the way his head moves as he sucks. “Baby, Steve… yeah.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement. He cups Bucky’s balls and rolls them in his palm, drawing his mouth up to the tip of his cock and rubbing his tongue firmly under the head. Bucky grunts and comes again, pulsing into Steve’s mouth. Steve waits until he’s done, then lets the small amount of clear omega come spill out onto Bucky’s stomach. Bucky groans as he watches Steve spread it around and lick it back up, like a cat with milk. “Jesus.”

Steve moves back up his body, kneeling, pushing Bucky’s legs up with his knees and setting the head of his cock to his entrance. He doesn’t ask before he pushes in, just locks eyes with Bucky and watches his face. Bucky’s lips part in pleasure at that first, heavy push of penetration, but he makes no sound. Steve exhales shakily and sinks into him until he’s fully seated. “Fuck, Bucky.”

“Mmhm,” he agrees. His runs his hands up Steve’s ribcage, slides them over the warm skin of his back. “Move,” he breathes. 

That’s all Steve needs. He starts to roll his hips, getting deep in Bucky from the angle that they both know gets Bucky where he needs it. He cries out in quiet, _uh, uh, uh_ ’s, huffing up against Steve’s face with parted lips and what he’s sure is a plaintive expression. He just wants this forever, is the thing.

It’s not as hard or as fast as it could be, but it’s deep and solid, and Bucky ramps up to another orgasm in only a few minutes. Steve’s eyes slam shut at the way that it makes Bucky’s body clench up around him, the way his features pinch with arousal just downright doing it for Bucky. He’s breathing heavily after it, but he’s not done. He wants to come again, wants to feel Steve’s knot and his release painting his insides. “Come on,” he urges. “Fuck me how you need to get off. I want to see you come.”

Steve groans and takes the permission, his hips snap back and then he’s fucking Bucky in harsher, shorter thrusts, jabbing his cock into him and burying his face in Bucky’s neck as he focuses on nothing but his own pleasure. 

It’s fantastic. Bucky always loves this part, so he’s completely taken aback when the panic hits.

Steve’s knot starts to plump, tugging more and more insistently at Bucky’s rim with each thrust. It should feel good, but instead Bucky starts to feel a cold, tight pinch in his stomach, his brain disconnecting somewhere along the way. And then instead of Steve, it’s other things he’s thinking about, other people. He slaps his hands to the front of Steve’s shoulders, intending to push him off, but that’s the exact second that Steve’s knot grows and ties them together. 

Bucky freaks out. He thrashes and wails, terrified and wanting to get away. Steve grabs his hips to force him still, face still buried in Bucky’s neck as he grunts and growls and comes buckets. He’s not even processing Bucky’s panic, too locked up in his one, long alpha orgasm to notice. It horrible. Bucky’s loud cries turn to shuddering sobs, then whimpers as Steve fucks him shallowly for several more minutes. “Stop,” he eventually whimpers, squirming weakly. “Please, stop.”

Steve has calmed down enough to actually hear him this time, and he picks his head up, staring at Bucky in alarm. Now he can feel the unhappy tension in his mate’s body, can smell the acrid scent of fear and loathing surrounding them like a cloud. He stops pulsing his hips, looking horrified. “Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head, trying to pull away from Steve’s knot and unable to. It just makes him choke out another sob at how trapped he is, how full and trapped. He’s not holding onto Steve anymore, his hands twisted up in the sheets instead, his head turned to the side and cheek digging into the pillow, as if he can escape that way. He can’t. “Please, please,” he keeps whimpering, gasping, “I can’t. No, I don’t I don’t—wanna—I-I can’t—” He’s starting to hyperventilate, can hear himself and feel the breath that’s not leaving and reentering his lungs like it should. A whole new type of panic grips him and his eyes fly wide open. “S-Steve!”

Steve looks utterly horrified. “Shit, Bucky.” He pulls his hips back as if he can do anything to separate them, but of course he can’t. It only makes his knot tug harder against Bucky’s rim, which in turn makes him yelp and cry out. 

“Ah! _Nooo_ ,” he moans.

“Shshsh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve rushes, holding still and petting Bucky’s face quickly. “I’m not gonna move, okay? I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, shivering and whimpering. He’s not in his right mind, isn’t thinking about how this is Steve and how he’ll never hurt him. All he thinks, all he _feels_ is Steve’s huge knot inside of him and the cold grip of panic as thoughts swirl on a loop through his head: _Not safe, can’t get away, it’s gonna hurt they’re gonna make me, please no I don’t want to!_

It’s only after Steve grasps and shakes him that Bucky realizes he’s said that last part out loud. He gasps, eyes shooting open and locking on Steve’s. “Steve!” his hands change course, flying to grab Steve’s shoulders and pull him close, rather than push away. He clings to him like a limpet, desperate and upset. “Steve, oh god, _Steve_.” He starts sobbing—at the look on Steve’s face, at what’s just happened, at the fact that he’s _still_ fucking tied and can’t do anything about it. But it’s his husband inside of him and it shouldn’t _be_ like this. Bucky sobs at how terrifying it was.

“Shh,” Steve soothes, nosing at the glands in his neck and giving him his scent to try and calm him down. “God, Bucky…” His voice cracks in utter pain and sadness. “Honey, baby. Please calm down. I’m so sorry.” 

He’s apologizing because he can’t pull out, because he didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late, but Bucky has come back to reality enough to do as Steve says. He draws in a shuddering breath, forcing himself to stop crying even though his face is already streaked in tears. He feels dejection hit him all over again. “I’m sorry!” he wails. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Steve hushes him. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, new tears surfacing despite his efforts. He’s mad at himself. “I don’t understand!” he wails. “I was fine before. I was _fine_!”

“Shh, Honey, it’s okay—”

“It’s _not_ okay!” Bucky shakes against Steve’s hold, not trying to escape anymore but not knowing how to hold still either. “I was _f-fine_ last night! This sh-shouldn’t be h-happening!” He’s breathing so erratically now that his words are stammering.

“I know, I know,” Steve tries again, using his most soothing voice to try and get Bucky to calm down. “But you’re going to be fine. You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you, you know that?” He searches Bucky’s face, probably checking for lucidity. “Tell me you know that, baby. Tell me you understand.”

Bucky exhales shakily, then nods. “I understand.”

Steve smiles weakly, obviously shaken but trying not to show it. He cups Bucky’s jaw and swipes a thumb over his cheek. “There you go. Good boy.”

Bucky’s calming down, but his face still crumples in shame. “Whyyy, Steve?” he whines. “I was doing better. Therapy, the pills… they’ve been working. This isn’t supposed to happen anymore!” He’s closed his eyes to shut Steve out. He doesn’t want to have to look at him. He feels like a failure.

“Hey, look at me Bucky.” When Bucky doesn’t listen, Steve Voices, “OPEN YOUR EYES AND LOOK AT ME, HONEY.”

Bucky inhales sharply, eyes flying open at the command. It’s like a cord, hooking in behind his belly button and pulling him forward into meeting Steve’s will. He looks surprised up at Steve. Steve hardly ever uses his Voice on Bucky. It’s not something either of them go for in their relationship. “What?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says. He dips to peck a kiss to Bucky’s lips, but freezes before he gets there. “I… is this okay?” he asks.

Bucky nods. Steve kisses him. It’s brief and it’s light, but it makes Bucky feel like he’s not a disappointment for freaking out, like Steve isn’t frustrated or horrified by what just happened. It helps him to relax some. He blinks up at Steve and sees how kindly he’s looking down at him. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Steve scoffs. “Am _I_ okay? Bucky I’m just concerned with you right now. Don’t worry about me. Here.” He wraps his arms around Bucky, under his back, and he rolls them so that they’re on their sides. He tangles their legs together and guides Bucky to rest his head against his chest. “There you go,” he murmurs. “Are you comfy?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky wiggles in the hold to settle himself, but it pulls against their tie and he gasps. _No_ , he doesn’t want that reminder. He wants to calm down, doesn’t want to feel trapped and slide into another panic attack. Steve has grabbed his hips at the tug on his cock, wary of Bucky moving and ready to hold him still, but Bucky meets his eyes and gives him a short nod. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re good. Just lay here, okay? Try to relax. It won’t be too long.”

Bucky huffs, holding his tongue to keep from saying something snappish. Steve’s knot always takes upwards of half an hour to subside. Usually Bucky like that, enjoys being able to keep Steve inside his body for one or several more orgasms, and then for closeness and intimacy as they both come down from their highs. But now it’s awful. It’s the exact opposite of what Bucky wants. “Okay,” he says quietly, not wanting to think about it any more than necessary. He settles in against Steve and focuses on holding completely still.

Steve starts up a pattern of light stroking over Bucky’s back, tracing his fingertips in the barest of touches that elicit goosebumps and pleasured shivers. “That feel good?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “Thank you.”

Steve kisses the top of his head and speaks against his hair. “You’re welcome Buck. I love you. We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

Bucky nods but doesn’t say anything in response. He just hopes that Steve is right, because he never wants to feel that sort of panic with Steve again. Steve loves him, he doesn’t deserve that. “Love you too,” he eventually winds up whispering, because if he can be sure of anything, it’s that.

.oOo.

Bucky goes to see a psychiatrist twice a week, has been doing so since not long after he was liberated from the regime and moved in with Steve. His private sessions help a lot with his anxiety issues, and the medicines the doctor prescribes for him help with what talk therapy just can’t. 

But it’s the group therapy that he attends once every other week that he really enjoys. It’s comprised only of former vessels and it’s led by one too; a woman who had worked as a psychologist before Gilead. Bucky likes group because it gives him a chance to relate to people who went through the same things he did. Whenever he starts feeling guilty or depressed about not being able to recover fast enough, he only has to attend one of the sessions to feel better. Everybody else in the group feels the same way, and it makes Bucky feel accepted, like maybe it’s okay and even normal that he’s not back to being shiny and happy yet.

“I had a panic attack in the middle of sex.” Normally he doesn’t share too much, preferring to sit back and listen to the others. But his therapist has encouraged him to speak up about it, so he’s talking. “Two days ago. It uh, it wasn’t good. We were almost finished when it happened…and he’s alpha.” He doesn’t have to explain further than that, the other omegas understand what he means. A panic attack while knotted is absolutely horrifying, and the others’ pinched faces show it. 

“Yikes,” one person says. 

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“Did your partner trigger it?” another member—Peter—asks. “Did he hurt you?”

“What? Oh, no. No way. Steve didn’t do anything. He calmed me down.” Bucky flushes and says, “I just freaked out at the… the feeling, you know?” He peeks up at the circle of people and sees that several of them are nodding. “I’m really disappointed by it,” he admits. “Because we’ve had sex before and it’s never been a problem.” He sighs. “I just don’t get how something that I’ve been fine with for so long can suddenly trigger an attack. Now I’m afraid to even be with him, you know?”

There are several sympathetic murmurs of agreement, then the group leader—a woman named Carol—says, “Given the fact that rape was a huge part of many of your traumatic experiences, it makes sense that consensual sex could trigger a panic attack.” She looks around the circle. “Does anyone have a similar experience they’d like to share?”

Peter raises his hand, then says, “My boyfriend Wade. He uh, well he really only likes to do it… from behind.” Peter blushes but pushes through to explain, “He’s got a lot of scars on his face and well, everywhere. He can’t let go and enjoy himself unless we do it that way. And I never had a problem with it, before.” He says ‘before’ in that way that they all do. Everybody knows what it means. “But now I just hate it. I hate presenting, not being able to see the person who’s… who’s inside me.” Peter shakes his head, looking down at the floor. 

“Why do you think that is, Peter?” Carol asks.

“Cause it’s like how the Commanders did it. Bad memories.” He looks over at Bucky. “I don’t have full-blown panic attacks but I definitely freak out. It kinda kills the mood.” 

“Have you talked with him about the problem when you’re not being intimate?” Carol asks. “Outside of the bedroom?”

“Yeah. We’ve been having trouble with compromising. He doesn’t want to see me freak out and I don’t want him to be so self-conscious that he can’t even get hard.”

“It’s something most of us face, in one way or another,” Carol says. “Our experiences impact not only us, but our partners as well. I myself haven’t been able to be intimate with anyone since the regime ended. I’ve avoided dating because I don’t want to fall for someone and then have them want something from me that I’m not sure I can give.” 

Bucky swallows heavily, not happy at hearing Peter or Carol’s stories but at least feeling better at the knowledge that he’s not the only one with sex problems. He gives Peter a grateful nod, then Carol, too. “Thanks,” he says. “It helps.”

Carol smiles softly at him. “You’re never alone in any of this, Bucky. None of us are.” She glances over to the wall clock and then stands up from her chair to say, “Okay guys, that’s all the time we’ve got. Thank you everyone for sharing and listening. Next group is the twenty seventh, same time but we’re going to meet in the church’s basement because the parishioners need this room for an event that night. I’ll see you guys in two weeks!”

They break down their chairs and put them away. Bucky spends a little time talking with Peter out in the parking lot, but the session has made him feel drained and all he really wants to do is get home so that he can sleep. 

.oOo.

“No! Stop! God, no no please, not them! Not them!!” Bucky’s still screaming, still halfway in the nightmare when Steve rushes in from the bathroom and shakes him awake. 

“Bucky! Bucky, baby, wake up!”

Bucky inhales sharply as he’s ripped from the dream. He’s surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks—he’d been crying. Steve is there, halfway kneeling on the bed and his hands planted on Bucky’s shoulders. He’s yanked him up to sitting and somehow Bucky knows he was shaking him to get him to wake up. “S-Steve?” he whimpers.

“Hey, hey.” Steve pets his face, looking concerned. “You were having a nightmare. You were screaming.”

Bucky presses into the soothing touches that Steve is giving him, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. _It was just a dream, only a dream_. “Shit,” he says shakily. Steve pulls him into a hug and from over Steve’s shoulder Bucky can see the bathroom lights turned on. The faucet is running. Steve’s toothbrush is on the floor. Bucky pulls back from the hug and notices for the first time that Steve is wearing a button-down shirt and tie. He’d been getting for work. Bucky glances to the windows, sees the barely-there trace of morning light coming through at the bottom of the shades. He clears his throat and tries to pull himself together. He shirks Steve’s embrace and sits back against the headboard, hastily swiping the wet tracks from his face. “Sorry,” he says. His voice is croaky. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Stop it,” Steve snaps. “Don’t you dare apologize. Christ.”

Bucky bites his lip, appropriately chastised. He flicks his head at the bathroom door. “You’d better go back to getting ready,” he mumbles. “Don’t want to be late for work.”

Steve huffs. “Fuck work.” Steve only curses like that when he’s really turned on or else seriously worried about Bucky or one of the girls. It makes Bucky stop trying to boss him around, for sure. He doesn’t fight it when Steve pulls him back into his arms and starts playing with his hair, running fingers through it and scratching lightly at his scalp. Bucky whimpers and presses his face into Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply to take in as much of his scent as possible. Steve hums. “That’s it, baby. Just relax.”

Bucky tries to, he really does, and Steve’s touches and his scent do help quite a bit. But he can’t push the memories of the nightmare aside, not completely. He shivers in Steve’s arms and Steve obviously notices. “It was so bad,” Bucky mumbles. “So bad. Just… the worst things ever.”

Steve squeezes him tighter, making a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest. “Gilead?” he asks.

Bucky whines in distress and Steve’s instantly hushing him. “Shshsh. I know, Honey, I know.” He kisses Bucky’s hair. “I have ‘em too, Buck. It’s awful. Terrifying.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

“…You want to talk about it?”

Bucky is instantly shaking his head no. “Mm mn. I don’t even want to think about it. Just want to forget.”

Steve makes a sound like he disagrees, but he lets it go. “Okay,” he says, bringing his hands down from Bucky’s head to knead at his shoulders. He pulls back a bit and looks Bucky in the eye. 

Bucky can tell he’s being sized up. “M’fine,” he says, trying to fake it on his face. “Really, I’ll be okay. Here, lemme up. I’ll go make you something for breakfast real quick while you finish getting ready.”

Steve stops him from getting up with gentle pressure on his shoulders. “No,” he says softly. “I’m going to grab something from the café at work. You should go back to sleep. You don’t have to be in class until two, right?”

Bucky frowns. “Yeah, but the girls—”

“Have Darcy to look after them,” Steve finishes for him. “She can manage on her own for today, okay? I’ll let her know.” Bucky makes a noise of displeasure, but Steve shushes him. “Please, babe. Try and get some sleep. Nightmares take a lot out of you—trust me, I know. I don’t want you to feel miserable all day. Just close your eyes for a little bit. I’ll set an alarm on your phone.”

Bucky would argue, but Steve’s looking at him so plaintively, his voice so compelling even though it’s not his Voice. And Bucky really is tired. He feels like he hasn’t had a wink of sleep, just endless, horrifying visions of his husband and daughters being tortured. He sags under Steve’s hands and nods. “Okay.”

Steve sighs in relief. He smiles at Bucky and plucks at his chin once. “Good boy.”

Bucky can’t even manage to scowl at Steve for the diminutive. In his fragile, tired and shaken state, he actually kind of likes it. He lays back in the bed at Steve’s urging, then closes his eyes and listens to the sounds in the bathroom as Steve continues to get ready for work. At some point Bucky drifts off, only half waking up to mumble a sleep-slurred, “Mm luvyou,” at Steve in response to… whatever it is Steve said. Bucky’s fast asleep again before he can think on it.

.oOo.

Bucky arrives on campus with plenty of time to spare before his Sociology101 lecture begins. He’s one of the first people to sit down in the auditorium. He busies himself with fooling around on his laptop and observing all the other students as they filter in. They’re all younger than him, fresh-faced 18-year-olds just starting out. Bucky’s a freshman too, but other than that, he’s not like them. He used to be, had started attending classes at the university right after graduating high school just like anybody else. But he’d only gotten one semester in before Gilead happened and all that was ripped away from him.

He feels awkward as he watches the other students talking to each other. It seems like they’re all friends, all have their own social groups. It makes Bucky feel left out. He doesn’t know anyone on campus. He’d stayed in the dorms back when he was eighteen, had had friends just like these people. But now he doesn’t. He’s just an interloper, coming to class from his and Steve’s apartment in the tower. He’s twenty-five, married, has kids, bad memories and battle scars. He’ll never have the true college experience again, and that fact just makes him bitter. He hates feeling ‘other’ like this. It brings back sour memories of the day when he’d shown up to class and his professor had pulled him aside to tell him he wouldn’t be allowed to attend anymore. “Omegas need to be with the family,” he’d said. “That’s what you should focus on, now.” 

Other students in the classroom had heard. Some of them had tittered, some had just shifted around uncomfortably, as Bucky and the other omegas were told to head home. 

Now, Bucky is struck by how out of place he is, and his cheeks burn with it. He shouldn’t be a freshman with no credits and little knowledge to his name! He should be halfway through grad school or a PH.D. program by now. Bucky knows he shouldn’t let it make him feel ashamed—it’s not like he had any control over being kicked out of college, after all—but he can’t help it. It’s embarrassing. He even has to repeat stupid prerequisite courses that have nothing to do with his major, like this Sociology101 class. All of his previous credits had been stripped from him once he’d been expelled, his records deleted as if he’d never been there at all.

Sighing, Bucky opens his laptop and tries to just focus on where he’d left off on his notes from the last lecture. If nothing else, he thinks, at least he can be glad that he’s taking school seriously now. Before, he’d been much less responsible, a dumb kid who thought college was just a given. Now, with what he’s been through, Bucky has a true appreciation for how valuable the right to study and learn really is. He’s treating it like a job, one that has to be done right.

The professor arrives and everyone in the auditorium quiets down as class begins. The topic of that day’s lecture pops up on the first slide, and Bucky feels his stomach sink.

_Gilead: nation under God._

Fuck, what a week he’s having.

Most of the beginning part of the lecture isn’t so bad. It’s nothing that Bucky doesn’t already know and none of it triggers him. The professor talks about the coup, the early restructuring and the formation of the resistance army. Bucky watches the reactions of the students around him. They’re riveted to the slides that show pictures of what it was like, most of them not having been exposed to the ugly realities of the regime. Or at least not as exposed to it as Bucky was. He wants to scoff and laugh at them all at the same time. 

That feeling goes away when the professor starts talking about the vessel program. 

“Processing centers evaluated fertility of criminal detainees,” he says. He clicks the slide and the picture changes to that of an old elementary school. “Given that public schools had lost their usefulness after the birthrate plummet, the regime used the old structures to set up the training facilities for fertile omegas. These were called ‘Red Centers’. A lot went on at these centers, and not all of it is verifiable, but here’s what we do know—”

Bucky swallows heavily, tuning out from the lecture as he remembers how it’d been when he’d been loaded off the truck and herded into a crowded wire pen of other omegas, all of them scared and confused just like him. He remembers the first time he was shocked with a cattle prod to get him moving faster in the right direction. He remembers how the impersonal doctors at the processing center made him lay on a cold metal table and spread his legs, how the Guardians at the Red Center had tagged his ear like he was an animal instead of a person. 

Self-consciously, Bucky moves his hair to make sure it’s covering his ears. The left one’s the one that’s more fucked up, but still… 

The girl next to Bucky is staring at him with an odd expression. Bucky frowns at her, weirded out for a second and about to ask her what her problem is, until he looks around and sees that a lot of other students are looking at him as well. Then he sees the projector screen, and his eyes widen in horror. There’s a picture of one of the processing centers, a sterile room of white tile that Bucky recognizes as the first holding pen of the medical suite. There are people in the picture—dozens of terrified-looking omega men and women who’ve been stripped of their clothes and packed together like sardines. Bucky feels like he can’t breathe as he sees his own face in the picture.

Holy fucking shit. He remembers that, remembers how humiliating it’d been and how angry he’d gotten when he saw someone with a camera who was going to take a picture of them like that.

Bucky’s near the front of the group in the picture, so he’s very noticeable. He’s clearly naked, but by some miracle nothing of importance can be seen in the shot, several of the other omegas having shifted and blocked most of his body from the waist down at the exact second that the picture was taken. 

What makes Bucky so damn noticeable in the picture is the fact that he’s staring DEAD ON at the camera. He’s the only one doing so, and the effect is that it pretty much makes it look like he’s the subject of the photo.

Bucky gulps, now very aware of all the attention that’s on him. He dares to look and—yep—everyone is staring. Bucky starts to feel sick, wants to get up and run away but somehow can’t make himself. He looks down at the professor. The man is staring up at him just like everybody else, and Bucky feels irrationally annoyed at him. He’s a teacher! He shouldn’t be gawking. He should be trying to get everybody to pay attention to the lecture. He should be switching to the next slide! Bucky’s about ready to yell that down to him, when someone says,

“You were one of them?”

Bucky’s eyes track to the side, two rows down where the girl who’s spoken is seated. He swallows heavily, not wanting to answer but not knowing what else to do. _Don’t have a panic attack, don’t have a panic attack, don’t have a panic attack_. “Yeah,” he winds up croaking, voice strained.

Another stretch of silence as everybody stares. Some of them look pitying, some just morbidly fascinated. Bucky can’t decide which he hates more. He waits for the next question to come, and sure enough…

“What’d you do?”

Bucky’s head whips to the side. “What?”

“Vessels were all criminals. What’d you do?”

“That’s bullshit,” Bucky snaps. That seems to shut the person up. Several of the students start murmuring to each other, so Bucky says, “They’d take anybody who they thought could have kids. Didn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. If they couldn’t pin anything on you, they’d take you anyway. You’d just disappear one day.” He glares at everybody, pissed off at being questioned like he’s some sort of expert. He doesn’t want to answer any more questions. “Anything else?” he grits, thinking that if anybody asks about the breeding program, he’ll fucking lose it.

Luckily, nobody does. The professor calls for everyone to face forward so they can get back on track with the lecture, and Bucky breathes a huge sigh of relief. He spends the rest of the class listening to the professor lay out the facts about the seven-year government of Gilead. He’s extremely uncomfortable and self-conscious, but on the upside, he’s got no need to take notes.

.oOo.

Bucky doesn’t tell Steve about what happened in class. He doesn’t want to worry him, and he gets over it fairly quickly anyway. Bucky doesn’t have any anxiety or panic attacks for over a week, but he’s completely unprepared for what happens when he gets on the train with Becca that Tuesday.

Admission to the Central Park Zoo is cheaper on weekdays than on the weekend, and it’s less crowded as well, so Bucky had decided to take Becca out for a little father-daughter time while Darcy kept Sarah at home. Becca’s been well-behaved the whole time and Bucky thinks she really liked seeing all the animals. It’s been a nice trip and he’s glad he took the time to do something special with her.

They get on the subway at the eighty-sixth street station, and Bucky sits with Becca in his lap. They make it two stops down the line before car fills up. A man takes the seat right next to Bucky. At first he doesn’t even look at the guy, but then he gets the feeling that he’s being stared at. He looks over.

He jolts as he recognizes the man. “You!” Bucky hisses, pulling Becca tighter into his arms. He has the urge to get up from his seat but he can’t with the train so packed. The man next to Bucky looks just about as disturbed as Bucky himself feels. “Get away from us,” Bucky says, glaring.

“I’m just sitting here,” the guy says. He looks at Bucky sadly. “Sorry. Don’t be scared. I’m not going to do anything.”

Bucky’s hit by the bizarre urge to laugh, even though it’s far from funny. “Yeah,” he huffs. “Just like you did nothing when they were strapping me down to that table.”

The man winces. “There was nothing I could do.”

“You could have decided not to become a fucking Guardian in the first place, is what you could’ve done!”

The man swallows and looks nervously around the car. Nobody seems to be looking their way. “Do you want to discuss this somewhere else?”

“Fuck, no.”

“What stop are you getting off at?”

Bucky growls. “Stay away from me.”

“I just want to talk,” the man says. “My name’s Jordan. What’s yours?”

No fucking way is Bucky answering that. He seals his lips tight together and resolutely stares forward. He ignores the man—Jordan—until they reach their stop, at which point he shoots up with Becca in his arms and gets off the train as quickly as possible. But it’s no use, in no time at all Jordan is there, catching up with them and calling out, “Wait!”

Bucky sighs and stops walking. He has to get rid of this guy. Tension zipping all through his body, he turns around to face him. “What?” he snaps. “What do you want?”

“I…” Jordan looks lost for a moment, before he says, “I’m sorry. We all just got caught up in it, ya know?”

It’s a terrible thing to say, in Bucky’s opinion. “No,” he says. “I _don’t_ know. I protested the regime, I fought in the resistance, I stood up for what was _right_.” He lets his eyes flick up and down Jordan’s form disdainfully. “You’re weak, a coward. You just did what they wanted, hurt people. Just stood there and watched while they beat me with metal cables!” His voice has gotten louder, and Bucky catches a few people glancing their way as they walk by. He ignores them. “So no, I don’t know. You can take your self-righteous apology and shove it.” He turns to leave, but freezes when he feels a hand land on his shoulder.

“Hey, come on. I wasn’t trying to—”

Bucky whirls around and clocks the guy right in the face. With his metal hand.

.oOo.

Bucky’s in the master bedroom’s walk-n closet when Steve gets home from work. He appears in the doorway, smiling and greeting, “Hey, babe.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He just grunts in response and keeps shoving hangers aside one by one, grabbing the occasional offending item off and tossing it into the pile that’s growing bigger on the floor. Steve must notice his mood because he sobers and takes a step closer. “Buck? What’s wrong?”

“Can’t fucking escape it, Steve,” Bucky snaps, frustration in his voice. “It’s been almost two years and it’s still everywhere I look. I dream about it, people ask me about it, I fucking see it one the subway.” Bucky scoffs, yanking a watermelon-colored sweater off its hanger and tossing it to the floor. It’s not quite omega-red, but he doesn’t care. 

“See what?” Steve sounds confused. His eyes are flicking between Bucky and the pile of clothing on the floor. “What happened on the subway?”

“Gilead, Steve!” Bucky yells. He stops moving, heaves a big sigh and then turns to look at Steve. He’s standing feet away, looking helpless. Bucky regrets having yelled. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m just tired of being reminded of what happened everywhere I go. I want it to be over, and I feel like it never will be.”

Steve’s expression goes from sad and confused, to sad and understanding. He comes over and holds out his arms. “C’mere.” Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He tucks himself in against Steve’s chest and closes his eyes as Steve holds him close. “It’ll never go away,” he whispers gently. “Not completely.” When Bucky whines, Steve pets his back and hushes him. “You’ve got scars, Buck. And not just physical ones.” He runs his fingers over Bucky’s clothed shoulder, over the place where metal meets flesh. “The memories are scars, too. And scars don’t go away. You can cover them up or try to tattoo over them, but they’re always gonna be there, underneath.”

“Steve…”

Steve tips his chin up and kisses him. It takes Bucky by surprise and he makes a sound against Steve’s mouth, hands flying up to his shoulders. It’s… nice, and after a moment Bucky gives into it, tilting his head and pressing, letting his lips part for Steve to lick into his mouth. When they part, Bucky is calm, all the upset of only moments ago feeling less important. He sighs and looks at Steve. “I got a phone call the other day.”

.oOo.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks later that night, when they’ve put the girls to bed and are sitting on opposite ends of the couch. They’ve been drinking wine and tangling their toes together where they meet in the middle for over an hour now, an action movie that neither of them are really watching playing on the tv. 

“Do?” Bucky asks.

“About the tv show.”

“Oh, right. I uh, I turned them down,” Bucky says. “It’s just going to be some juicy spectacle. Trash tv. I don’t want to be a part of that.”

Steve seems to get it and he nods in agreement. “You don’t ever have to talk to anybody about it, if you don’t want to.” He fixes Bucky with a serious look. “If any of your classmates ever ask again, you can just tell them to shut the fuck up.”

Bucky snorts. “ _Steve_. Cursing, really?” Steve kicks against Bucky’s foot and he laughs. “Don’t worry, I can handle them.”

Steve hums. “Oh, I know you can.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He tips his wine glass up for another long draw. They’ve already made their way through one bottle, and now they’ve started drinking from a second. Bucky isn’t unaffected. “You drunk?” he asks, watching as Steve drinks from his own glass.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky tilts his head. “Want to go fool around?” 

“If by ‘fool around’ you mean have passionate sex, then yes.”

Bucky grins, relieved that Steve isn't shying away from touching him, after what'd happened when they'd been together before. “Yeah,” he murmurs. He puts his glass on the coffee table and crawls over to Steve, settling over his lap and rubbing both palms over the swell of his pecs. “You’re so handsome,” he says, admiring. “So big. Strong.” 

“Mm. Thank you.” Steve sets his glass aside and runs his hands up and down Bucky’s thighs. Bucky hums, biting his lip as a very dirty thought occurs to him. Steve must see it in his eyes because he pays closer attention. “What?” he asks. “What are you thinking?” Bucky shakes his head, about to forget it, but Steve grabs him by the hips and digs his fingers in a little. “C’mon, tell me.”

Well, if he’s going to insist… Bucky take a deep breath, then says, “Have you ever thought about switching?”

Steve’s eyes are blank. “Switching?”

“Like, me on top.” Bucky blushes and looks away. “You know …inside of you.”

Steve goes very still for a few, long seconds, and just when Bucky is starting to panic that he’s seriously turned his husband off, Steve lets loose a groan that makes it clear he _really_ likes that idea. “Fuck, Bucky,” he says, pulling him closer and kissing him hungrily. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. I didn’t know it was something you wanted.”

Bucky feels heat gather low in his belly. “I didn’t think you would. You… you’d let me?” 

“Yes. If it’s what you want.” Steve kisses him again, this time with a hot slip of tongue, then he says, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Bucky squirms in place, embarrassed. “It’s not something alphas usually want. It’s not something omegas are supposed to want.”

Steve growls, slides his hands down to Bucky’s butt, and flips them over. Before Bucky knows what’s what, Steve is laying over him, looking down at him like he’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “And since when have you subscribed to stereotypes like that?” He dips down, starts pressing kisses to his neck. “Hm?” 

Bucky sighs, running his fingers through Steve’s hair as he enjoys the attention. “Yeah I guess not,” he says. “…So you won’t mind?”

“It’s kinky as hell,” Steve says. “Of course I won’t mind. I might like it.”

"Seriously?"

"One way to find out."

Bucky feels his blood going south at hearing Steve say that, his cock chubbing up inside his pajama pants. “God,” he husks, pulling Steve up from his neck for another kiss, this one searing hot and filled with all the things Bucky wants to do to him. “That’s so fucking hot, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky pushes at his shoulders. “Come on. Get up. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Steve grins and rolls his hips down once to let Bucky feel his erection. “Sir, yessir.”

.oOo.

Once they’re on the bed and Bucky’s really doing it, he gets nervous. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve, he wants it to feel good. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says again, still just tracing a single finger around Steve’s hole.

Steve rolls his eyes from where he’s lying on his back. “I will, I promise.” He parts his legs a little wider. “Now come on.”

Bucky squirts more lube onto his finger just to be sure, then he presses in just the barest bit. His eyes flick between where Steve is taking him into his body, and Steve’s face. He’ll stop if there’s even the slightest expression of displeasure on his face. “Okay?” he asks.

Steve huffs. “Baby, I know you’re worried about hurting me, but this is crazy. You don’t have to go so slow.” He wiggles down against Bucky’s hand and Bucky gasps at how it makes his finger slide in deeper. Steve shivers and nods. “See? I’m fine. Just think about how I do it to you, okay?”

Bucky nods, eyes fixed solely on where he’s touching Steve, now. “Okay,” he whispers. Slowly, he pushes his finger all the way in. It’s probably the most erotic thing he’s ever done, touching Steve like this, watching him take him into his body. Steve was right when he said it was kinky. It _is_. Even more than that, it’s almost dirty, forbidden. Alphas are the dominant ones. They’re not supposed to enjoy being taken, not like this. But Steve obviously does. He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, holding it more than stroking, just barely stimulating himself as Bucky works his finger inside. Slowly, Bucky rotates his wrist so that his palm is facing up. He knows that alphas don’t have the same erogenous zones inside, don’t have the overly-sensitive slick glands and enlarged prostate. But still…

“ _Oh_ , yeeah.”

Bucky grins. He curls his finger again. “Am I hittin’ it?”

Steve nods fast. His eyes are closed and there’s a pinch right between his eyebrows as he focuses on the feeling. “Yeah. Oh, that feels good.”

Bucky hums, so turned on at the way Steve is enjoying this. He can feel slick leaking out of him where he sits on the bed, the sheets beneath him getting wet. “Good,” he whispers. He starts pumping his finger a little, thrusting lightly to get Steve used to the feeling. Steve’s hole clenches around him like it doesn’t want to let him go, which is fucking amazing. Even with just the one finger, his husband feels so _tight_. Bucky can’t wait to get inside him. “There you go,” he murmurs. He smooths his left hand up and down Steve’s inner thigh, over the crest of his groin and the firm muscle of his lower stomach. His hand brushes Steve’s where he’s touching himself. “You know,” Bucky says, “You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now.”

Steve’s eyes open and he looks at Bucky with something like tenderness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky strokes over his prostate again, eliciting another pleasured gasp. “Thank you for letting me have this,” he says softly. “After today, after this last week, really. I think I need it. Just… I need to be in control of something, you know?”

Steve nods, smiling softly at him. He lets go of his cock and takes Bucky’s hand instead, fingers twining with Bucky’s metal ones. “I know,” he says. “And you are in control, okay? You’re gonna open me up and be inside me, Sweetheart.” He brings Bucky’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it. “You’re gonna make us feel so good.”

Bucky swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat at the utter trust in Steve’s eyes, love and lust surging through lower places at Steve’s words. “Yeah,” he breathes. “M’gonna.” He pulls his finger out, puts another alongside it, and pushes back in. Steve moans softly at the added stretch, biting his lip as Bucky works all the way in. It’s so fucking _tight_ , Bucky honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to fit inside there. Sure, his dick isn’t that big—he _is_ an omega—but even still…

He works him with the two fingers for a long time, hushing Steve every time he starts to get impatient. Bucky’s not going to mess this up. Steve’s body is different from his. He has to really work the muscle to make sure he relaxes and softens enough to let Bucky in. By the time Bucky slips a third finger in, Steve is breathing heavier. Not quite panting, but close to it. Bucky’s been thrusting into him steadily, making sure to curl his fingers on every drag out. It’s clearly having an effect on Steve. He’s not even touching his cock right now and yet he’s still hard. Bucky licks his lips and anxiously meets Steve’s eyes. “You ready?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Come on, I want to feel you.”

Bucky’s rock hard already, but he feels like gets even harder at hearing Steve’s words. Hearing his husband, his _alpha_ , ask for it like that is just… It’s fucking amazing, is what it is. Bucky pulls his hand away, enraptured by the sight of Steve’s hole winking at him, clenching at nothing in his absence. “God,” Bucky murmurs. He grabs the lube and squirts more out, starts stroking himself with it. He knees up closer to Steve and holds his cock right against his entrance. “Say I can,” he whispers, eyes locked on Steve’s blue ones. They’re so fucking bright blue and they’re wide open and filled with love. There’s no fear in them.

“You can,” Steve says. He hooks his heels behind Bucky’s legs, pulling him closer, and that’s when Bucky inhales and pushes in.

 _“Oh!”_ He’s not sure which one of them says it. Maybe they both do.

It’s so good. It’s so tight and hot and so _good_. Bucky has to grit his teeth not to move, once he’s slid all the way in. He has to make sure Steve’s ready first, he has to. “S-steve?” he says, waiting for Steve to open his pinched-shut eyes. “Baby? You okay?”

Steve nods, mouth open as he pants. “Yeah. Fuck, it’s big.”

Bucky can’t help it, he snorts. “No it’s not.” He grinds his hips against Steve’s ass and Steve opens his eyes to give him a dirty glare. 

“It is for me,” he says. 

Bucky hums and nods. He sinks down over Steve until their faces are only inches apart. This close, he can see the bit of green in his eyes that Steve’s always insisting isn’t there. “Hey,” he breaths.

Steve smiles. “Hey.” His hands appear on Bucky’s back, smoothing up and down soothingly. “You feel good?”

Bucky nods shakily. “You just tell me when you’re ready.” Breathily, he admits, “Don’t think this is gonna last long.”

“Hey, shh. That’s okay.” Steve tilts up and kisses him slowly. “It’s your first time.”

Bucky groans, that statement getting him hotter than it should. “Ready?” he breathes.

“Mmhm.”

Bucky pulls out, then pushes back in. Steve inhales sharply and Bucky moans. He tries to focus on Steve’s face as he moves, but it’s hard to remember when he’s feeling this good. He keeps wanting to ask Steve if he’s okay, but eventually he just has to trust Steve’s scent and go with what it’s telling him: that Steve is unbelievably aroused and enjoying every second of this. 

“Bucky, fuck. Ugh.”

Bucky pants down at him, fucking in harder at the sight of Steve’s pinched features. “Yeah?” he breathes.

Steve nods tightly. “Yeah.” He’s gritting his teeth and rocking up into it, trying to pull Bucky impossibly closer with his legs wrapped around him. “Feels so good,” he says. “I never—never knew.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Never knew how it’d feel taking it up the ass?” He pulls out, pushes back in with a pointed curve of his spine that makes Steve groan. “S’pretty good, huh?” Steve makes a pained sound that Bucky takes as annoyed agreement. “Are you gonna come?” He wants to make Steve come so bad.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Are you?”

Bucky huffs and smiles, shaking his hair out of his face. Steve’s never talked so much during sex, checking in with him to make sure it’s all okay. It’s sweet. And fucking Steve is getting Bucky damn close, but… “Not before you,” he tells him. “Come on.” He takes Steve’s hand and sets it against his cock, which is still mostly hard but sadly neglected. “Touch yourself,” Bucky pants, hips still working. “I wanna feel you coming around me first.” Steve groans at those words and nods, hand wrapping around his dick and pulling fast and hard. He’s so tense, so tightly wound and flushed that, in no time at all, Bucky can tell he’s right on the edge. “C’mon, Stevie,” he husks. He pumps his hips in what he hopes is the perfect angle to get at Steve’s prostate. Steve gasps, so maybe it is. “Come on, come on. Want to feel you clenching on my dick.”

Steve grunts and his eyes slam shut, fist seizing tight as he starts to shoot off between them. Bucky moans at seeing it, moans even more at feeling the incredible, pulsing pull of Steve’s body. He loses all of the restraint he’s been hanging on to and starts thrusting hard and fast, jackhammering into Steve’s body in a way that he knows from experience does almost nothing for the bottom, but Bucky doesn’t care. Steve’s come already, now Bucky’s going to get his. 

It doesn’t take long; thirty, maybe forty seconds. Bucky lingers right on the edge for a long beat, but he goes tipping over with a loud cry when Steve _rakes_ his nails down his back and growls into his ear, “Give me your come, Omega.”

.oOo.

Fucking Steve, as it turns out, isn’t really different than having Steve fuck him. Well it is different, obviously, in the mechanics at least. Bucky gets to learn what it feels like to be inside Steve, and he loves knowing the sounds Steve makes as he’s fucked nice and deep. He’s just taken Steve’s _other_ virginity, which thrills him to the core. But being on top is still completely the same in the ways that really matter. It’s still lovemaking no matter how dirty or rough they try to make it. It’s still Bucky, showing parts of himself that he normally keeps hidden. It’s still the two of them sinking into each other’s skin. Like soulmates. 

Steve kisses Bucky and tells him he liked it more than he thought he would, and, outside of Bucky’s heats, he’d be willing to try it again. That makes Bucky’s dick jerk and get hard again—he is omega, after all—and he hardy has to open his mouth to ask Steve for another orgasm before he’s sinking down his body to suck him off.

His husband is the best.

.oOo.

“Obviously this is a very sensitive, personal topic we’re discussing today, so really, thank you for being willing to come on and share your story.” Elizabeth says. She’s Bucky’s least favorite of the bunch, but she hasn’t blurted out anything backwards or offensive yet, so he’s hopeful.

“Sure,” he says. “It was… hard to decide if I wanted to, because I think a lot of people are just eager for the juicy details.”

“Fuck,” Whoopi says, and Bucky smirks because he figures that’s going to have to be bleeped out. “Well we’ve all seen the pictures of omegas dressed in red and all that,” Whoopi says. “But I think what people really don’t know is what you went through on a daily basis. Can you walk us through what life was really like?”

Bucky clears his throat and nods, hoping he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as he feels. The last time he did this it was under very different circumstances—in front of a judge and jury and a very pernicious defense attorney. This won’t be that way, he has to remind himself. There’s no one here who’s going to try to humiliate or discredit him. Inhaling, he nods and says, “We were rounded up and treated like animals, basically. Treated like all we had were ovaries, instead of brains. There was corporal punishment, a lot of beatings. A fair bit of mutilation, if you acted up enough.” Bucky sniffs. “Anything they had to do to break you down. It really felt hopeless.”

“Can you show us your arm?” Joy asks. 

Bucky pulls his shirt sleeve up his forearm and holds it up off the table they’re all sitting at, showing it to the camera. “Amputation was like, the worst punishment we could get, barring death,” he says. “They didn’t like to kill vessels as much because we were at least good for one thing. We weren’t worth wasting. But, you know—don’t exactly need legs or arms to have a baby.”

The ladies all make horrified noises at that. Elizabeth hurries to ask, “Um, how did they assign you to your… to where you would go?”

“You know I still don’t really know,” Bucky says. “They just packed me up and sent me on my way. ‘Your name’s Ofwarren now, now it’s Ofsteven, Ofkate.’ Every time you got reassigned, it changed.” 

“What were they like?” Barbara asks. “The Commanders who took you?”

“The commanders were assholes,” Bucky says bluntly. “Entitled, dismissive, most of them perfectly happy to rape you and pretend that’s not what they were doing.” Bucky’s eyes flick to the studio audience and he says, “Sometimes I hear people suggest that maybe some of The Faithful were just too afraid to speak out, that some of the Guardians weren’t that bad. I don’t know about that. It could be true for a few of them, but the Commanders? Definitely not.” Bucky scowls. “They all worked hard to be exactly what they were. They were murderers, torturers and rapists and they knew it.”

The whole entire set is very quiet for a moment, one of the boom mike operators coughing the loudest sound in the silence. Then Elizabeth says, “You married a Commander though.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Steve. He was a fake one, a rebel agent. He helped me to escape.”

“Well that sounds like the plot to a romantic thriller.”

“It wasn't romantic.”

“And what about now?” Joy asks. “What’s it like going back to normal life?”

Bucky pauses, contemplating how honest he wants to be, before he says, “I’m happy now, but it’s not like before. My life will never be the same.” He shakes his head sadly. “A lot of former vessels have PTSD. I do. Some days it’s amazing to be back in the world, other days it just feels like an insurmountable struggle.” Bucky sighs. “But I’m lucky. I have good friends. Most of my family survived and is around to support me. My husband is wonderful, and I’ve got my daughters, too. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“Aw. And—oh—here we go, yes.” The studio audience bursts in a loud series of ‘Aws!’ and laughs. “We’ve got a few pictures of them here.” 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the stage’s large projections screen and sees the picture of him and Steve with the girls at Becca’s third birthday party. He smiles and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Ha, yeah. Not exactly the best shot of me.” In the picture, he’s soaked and disheveled and laughing gracelessly, hair limp and dark like seaweed against his neck. He may not look very good, but it’s easily one of the happiest pictures Bucky’s ever been in. He’s holding Becca in his arms, water wings still over her chubby little arms, and Steve is holding Sarah in her waterlogged swim diaper. They look like the happiest family of all time. “Like I said,” Bucky says, trying to scrub the blush from his face. “I’m really lucky. I had a lot to come back to. Some people didn’t.”

Barbara nods then sobers. “You've come a long way since Gilead."

"Yeah."

"Those years were hell on Earth for so many people. For you, too. You’re very brave to come out and speak about it. I know it must be difficult.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It is. I don’t exactly love telling people all my personal business.”

“Of course not.”

“But I also think it’s important to talk about it, especially about the uncomfortable parts. Because the thing is, people are so quick to forget. I mean a huge chunk of Americans held conservative values before the coup, right? And even if they disagreed with the way it went down, a lot of them still have the same beliefs; still think Omegas should be in the home and that it’s their duty to have as many babies as possible. That god is punishing us for not living biblically or whatever.” Bucky shrugs. “I pretty much disagree with all of it, think it’s so ignorant”—he sees Elizabeth tense up at this, looking ready to speak—“But people have the right to their opinions, because we’re a _free_ nation. What scares me now is how I see those peoples’ values creeping back into daily life, into public policy.”

“How so? Joy asks. “Can you give an example?”

“The Fertility Care Act, for one.”

“But that Act benefits omegas,” Elizabeth argues. “It protects them.”

“Yeah well that’s the thing—when people start thinking they need to make decisions _for_ us, they’re already reducing us to ‘less than’, assuming we can’t take care of ourselves.” Bucky snaps. “The caretakers at the Red Centers though they were protecting us too. And I don’t really care if I get a tax break and free childcare. Coerced procreation is coerced procreation.” Elizabeth shuts up, and Bucky goes on. “You know I found out the other day that I can’t pick up my birth control from the pharmacy without my alpha’s signature?”

“Your husband had to come?”

Bucky scowls. “Fuck, no.”—another bleep for the editors, he figures—“I wasn’t gonna go track him down. I just threw a fit, cursed the pharmacist out, then went and grabbed the nearest alpha in the store—some guy in the protein powders aisle. Had him sign off on it. The pharmacist didn’t even question it.” Whoopi makes a noise of derision. “Yeah.” Bucky agrees. “Then there’s congress, trying to pass that anti-abortion bill again. But you know what bother me the most is that so many people are just complacent about these things; they don’t stand up for what’s right, when they see it inching back to how it was. They say it couldn’t happen again, but it _could_. Popular opinion could just strip all our rights away again if we’re not careful.”

“You make a good point,” Barbara says. “But won’t it just be stripping other peoples’ rights, if we say they can’t hold certain views.”

“Exactly,’ Elizabeth chimes in. “Just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean it’s not valid. Focusing on family values and fixing the birthrate are important issues. Conservative voices still deserve to be heard.”

“I’m not saying that they don’t,” Bucky snaps. “People can believe whatever the f— _heck_ they want. They just can’t make it public policy to force everybody to go along with it, and we shouldn’t ignore it or ‘let it go’, or whatever. That’s how we got to Gilead in the first place—indifference.” Bucky glances pointedly over to Elizabeth and sees her turn her nose up at him. What fucking ever. “You want to know where ‘family values’ got us?” Bucky asks. “I have daughter with Down Syndrome. She’s four years old, and she’s omega, and I found out that the Red Center had her pegged as a future vessel.”

All four women at the table either gasp or bring their hands to their mouths in shock. “ _No!_.” 

“When she was fourteen, they said. She’d be given to some Commander.” Bucky looks out at the studio audience, straight into the main camera. “The little things add up, and that’s where they lead to. Everybody needs to realize that, and _that’s_ why I’m willing to suck it up and talk about all the uncomfortable stuff. Because sometimes it’s only the horrific details that can get people to listen.”

The four co-hosts all agree and make supportive comments. Then Joy announces that they have to go to break, and that when they come back ‘Actress Reese Witherspoon will be joining us to talk about the surprising impact the Gilead years had on her life.’ The show’s theme song comes on as the camera jib pulls back, and then someone offstage yells, “And… cut!”

Everybody’s polite enough but quite dismissive, like they’re too busy getting ready for the second half of the program to pay Bucky any more attention. He tries not to take it personally. Such is the nature of show business, he supposes. Thank god he’s not involved with that. Someone backstage helps him remove his mic pack and wipe off the makeup they’d insisted he needed to wear, and Bucky’s given a check for three thousand dollars and a voucher for a cab to the airport. He sighs. Suddenly he’s very, very tired and he just wants to go home and fall asleep with Sarah and Becca snuggled in his arms, Steve on the other side. 

He’ll donate the money, once he figures out what charity deserves it.

.oOo.

Bucky’s flight back from L.A. lands at ten pm and Steve picks him up at the airport, giving him the biggest, softest hug ever. Bucky sinks into it and smiles with his eyes closed. “Missed you,” he says, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. He smells like _home_.

“Missed you too, babe.”

They drive home mostly in silence. Bucky asks Steve if the show has aired yet and Steve says no, but he’s got Jarvis recording every episode of _The View_ that comes on for the foreseeable future. Bucky hums in thanks and falls asleep for the rest of the drive.

When they get in the apartment, Steve takes him straight to bed. Neither one of them is hungry and Bucky is pretty sure Steve wants to snuggle and reorient themselves with each other just as much as he does. He’s been away for five days and it’s felt like weeks. They lay down and curl on their sides facing each other, knees bumping and hands tangling between them. “I’m proud of you,” Steve says quietly. “You know that?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiles softly. “I’m glad it’s over though. I’m not made for the silver screen.”

“Did it… did it go the way you wanted it to?” Steve asks. “It wasn’t like that other offer you got? Wasn’t… exploitative?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, no. Nothing like that.” He sighs and shrugs. “They were very respectful, and they asked good questions and let me talk.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I just…” Bucky chews his lip. “I guess I just wish I could be the one to pick the questions, you know? Tell people want I want to tell them, instead of satisfying somebody’s curiosity.”

Steve stares at him for a long few seconds, and just when Bucky’s about to ask him what his deal is, he sits up and pulls something off the nightstand. He hands it to Bucky. It’s a postmarked manila envelope that’s already been opened. Bucky looks questioningly at Steve and Steve supplies, “There might be a way to get your message out, in a way that _you_ want.”

That’s cryptic, so Bucky untwists the envelope’s grommet, pulls the handful of papers out, and looks down to read them.

Turns out, they’re from a publishing company.


End file.
